


A Little Bit Alliterate

by httpstiles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alliteration, Bad Touch, Blood, Blood Loss, Bullying, Gags, Harassment, Hostage Situations, Hostage Stiles Stilinski, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Non-Consensual Touching, Restraints, Serial Killers, Sexual Harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 19:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4847480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/httpstiles/pseuds/httpstiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A no longer retired serial killer is back at it and attacking high school students. Stiles doesn't fit the bill for the killer's type, but alliteration obsessed William Williams can make him fit in order to get Sheriff Stilinski right where he wants him.<br/>-<br/>"Stepping into the classroom feels like the world moving in slow motion. His eyes scan across the floor and there's the odd absence of any desks in the class. All are gone except one, and at the foot of the desk is a pool of blood. He can't say how much, but a lot doesn't quite suffice. Resting in the blood, are two feet, barefoot and tied with rope to the front legs of the desk. His eyes finally looks up and the breath gets knocked out of him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Bit Alliterate

Up until the past year, almost two now, Beacon Hills had been a small town, so when these random animal attacks started happening, it caused an uproar. These deaths carried on through January and February of Stiles' sophomore year, and they were later pinned on Kate Argent. Not long after, though, deaths started up again, and with Stiles' help, the sheriff had been able to link them to Matt Daehler. Things kept happening after that, so, while it may have been alarming, people got used to it. People eventually accepted that the town they lived in wasn't safe anymore. Few moved, but many stayed. The entire world is a scary place and some had just managed to accept that there could be something equally terrifying out there.

Nonetheless, Sheriff Stilinski hadn't expected anything after the pack had finished taking care of Theo and the chimeras. Then one day out of nowhere he gets a call asking him to report to a crime scene just out of the county. When he questions why he's needed out of his jurisdiction, he's told that the state police need him to know what's happening.

So Sheriff takes a forty-five minute drive to the next county over. When he arrives, it's at a school. Many kids are around the building, despite the fact that it's a Saturday, but everything is taped up and being watched by various deputies. When he passes the tape, a man is immediately approaching him.

“Sheriff Stilinski, I'm Detective Lawrence. I'm sorry to call you way out here, but I feel it's necessary that you prepare.”

“Prepare for what?” he asks. The man gets a grim look on his face.

“Follow me.”

 

Detective Lawrence leads him inside, past multiple people. In the front office, someone who looks like a mother is covered in a shock blanket while an officer speaks to her. A few forensic guys hover around outside a classroom.

“I need to warn you, this will be disturbing.”

“How so?”

“It's not going to be the blood that makes you want to find this sick bastard.”

 

Stepping into the classroom feels like the world moving in slow motion. His eyes scan across the floor and there's the odd absence of any desks in the class. All are gone except one, and at the foot of the desk is a pool of blood. He can't say how much, but a lot doesn't quite suffice. Resting in the blood, are two feet, barefoot and tied with rope to the front legs of the desk. His eyes finally looks up and the breath gets knocked out of him.

In front of him is a teenage girl, dressed up with a plaid skirt and button up white blouse with a few too many buttons undone and a bright red blooming from the top. Her arms are rested across the desk, surrounded in their own pools of blood and wrists tied to the underside of the desk. Eyes scanning up more, there's a long slit across her throat, that bleeds onto the blouse, and there's a bright red ball gag in her mouth, strapped in the back with a small buckle, similar to a belt. The sheriff lets fat breath of air and turns toward Lawrence and away from the scene.

“Any suspects?”

“Yeah. Twenty years ago, we dealt with a guy, William Williams,” Sheriff screws his face up at the odd name, “but he went off the grid when we were close to catching up to him. This matches his style and I have a bad feeling he's going to be at it again. This is the second murder like this within a week, but the last one was from further north.”

“And you think he's heading to Beacon County next?”

“I know it. He never stays in one county long, and he doesn't strike in more than one city in each.”

“Do his victims have anything in common?”

“Yeah,” Lawrence nods his head in the direction of the door and they make their way out. “White skin, close to pale but not fair, brown hair, and lean figure. He also has this thing about the names of the victims, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“That young girl was Cathy Clements. Before that was Reilly Ricks.”

“Alliteration.”

“A psychologist we spoke to about someone like Williams says it's probably because he feels connected to the victim in that sense. He's got the same features too.” Sheriff pauses for a moment, thinking about Allison Argent, a young and bright girl who also lost her life all too soon. It pains him to think of any of the kids in his county ending up the same way as Cathy.

“What can I do?”

“There's not much you can do. We have state police and FBI on the case, but your people need to be aware, and individual city stations need to know, too. I suggest a curfew for all high school students, regardless of age. The guy has no specified age. If they're in high school and they match any of those descriptions, they need to know how careful they need to be.”

 

-

 

Articles are in the paper by the next day, and they're to remain in there until the man is either caught or passes through. Unfortunately, the latter seems to be most likely.

 

But then days go by and there's nothing from Williams and Stiles tells him kids from the school are on edge. There are a few girls who meet the descriptions and at this point they've probably made a lot of new friends from random people feeling the strange need to protect them. One girl that comes up in the Sheriff's conversation with Stiles is Jamie Jurado. She's Mexican, but has the white skin of her father and the matching brown hair and brown eyes. Stiles says he hangs around her more because Scott says she smells anxious all the time and she's never been one to have a lot of friends. Sheriff would say that by the way Stiles talks about her, she's grown on him fast within the week, and he may even have a crush. Stiles laughs about it when he brings it up and says, “It's most definitely not like that.”

 

When Williams never strikes and it's been two weeks, the town calms down a little bit, but the police are on edge, waiting for a strike or some sort of contact. Stilinski can't help the case, but he's loaded with typical crimes like B&Es, DUIs, and a bunch of minor drug related things all the time. Today was particularly stressful, though, so he heads home with a plan to have a beer over dinner with Stiles. Hell, he'll probably let Stiles have a beer of his own if he wants.

 

Stepping into the house, he can smell the garlic which means Stiles is probably making a pasta and he could really use a pasta right about now.

“Stiles, I'm home!” He removes his gun holster and sets it on a small table by the coat rack and walks toward the kitchen. He wears a smile, just happy to see his son, but when he steps in, Stiles isn't there. He shuts off the stove and turns, looking around. “Stiles?”

“Hey, daddy.” The unfamiliar voice has the sheriff whipping his head in the direction of the hall that leads to the family room.William Williams stands there with a gun pointed at him. Deep cold fear fills the sheriff and panic runs through him. “I got a new toy,” the man smiles mischievously, “I found him on the street and I couldn't resist.” Anger over takes him and Stilinski takes a single step forward- “Uh uh uh,” Williams says with a smile, aiming his gun with a too steady hand. “Let's not make any wrong moves here, and how about you just come with me?”

 

-

 

Dread rests in the pit of his stomach as he follows this killer into the hall. Williams is walking backward, but he doesn't trip or double check where he's stepping. The sheriff follows at the same aching pace that the man moves, all the while his eyes watching the knife that he swings in his other hand. It drips with blood and Lord, he fucking _knows_ it's his son's blood, and that terrifies him.

 

Upon entering the room, the sheriff is met with his worst nightmare. At the base of an obviously old desk, bare feet rest, where ankles are tied to the front legs. A single drop of blood joins the image. On top of the desk, two arms rest across the space, wrists restrained and forearms bloody as he'd seen only once before. He forces himself to really look and he sees his son, dressed in a nice white button-up shirt, with a few too many buttons undone, pant-less, a black tie that's uncharacteristically tight, and a bright red ball gag. To top it all off, Stiles' right leg is obviously broken

“You bastard!” he shouts. “What the hell do you want?!”

“Tsk, tsk,” Williams shakes his head. He goes still staring at Sheriff. In a flash the knife is stabbed into the top of the desk, right between Stiles arms. He sees Stiles flinch and whimper, and it's only then that he can actually see the steady tears streaming down Stiles' face. “Patience, Sheriff.” Stiles lowers his head in attempt to get away from his loud voice. Williams doesn't like it and makes it clear by grabbing the tie and yanking his head back up. His arm steadies the gun at Sheriff again and he leans close to Stiles' ear, but doesn't bother to whisper, “Good boys sit up straight, Stiles.” Stiles' breaths come in heavy and make his entire chest move.

“What do you need with him?” Stilinski asks as calmly as he can. “His name, doesn't even-”

“I don't _need_ him. I _want_ him.” He tosses the tie aside and runs his fingers through Stiles' hair like he's an animal to be caressed. “Oh that shade of red on your face is lovely, Mr. Stilinski. Any more angry and you might match Stiles' blood.” The man waits for a response, but he doesn't give one. “I do need you Sheriff and it's very simple. Pull out your phone and call Detective Lawrence.” The sheriff complies, but Williams' hand never leaves Stiles head. At this point he looks pale and he looks shaky and faint. “You're going to ask where my file records are kept, and if you can, you're going to request to look at them.” Stilinski nods, a plan already forming in his head. “Put it on speaker.”

 

_“Detective Lawrence here.”_

“Detective, it's Sheriff Stilinski.”

_“Sheriff, how can I help you?”_

“I was wondering where you guys have William Williams' files?”

_“They're kept and the main precinct that we runs leads through. Why do you ask?”_

“I was wondering if you can send them to me so I could take a look at them.”

The detective knows that the Sheriff knows that that's not something within his ability to make happen, nor should he be requesting these files.

_“Where do you want them sent?”_

“You can fax them to me.”

_“Home or office?”_

“Home.” There's a beat of silence and then,

 _“They'll be there soon, John.”_ It's said which such a firm tone that he knows Detective got the message. His plan has been started.

 

-

 

Stiles can see the plan brewing in his dad's eyes, but he's still wary of the situation. His wrists continue to bleed and drip from the corners of the desk.

“Until I get those files, you're unfortunately of no use to me,” Williams tells his dad. “Leave your phone on the table, and follow me into the other room, where you will willingly let me handcuff you and tie your ankles together to leave you in the closet.”

“You're fucking crazy if you think I'm leaving you alone with my son!” Williams doesn't hesitate to slam Stiles' head into the table and his pool of blood, narrowly missing the knife, then pull it back up fast by the hair. The right side of his face drips with his blood, some dripping into his eyes and mixing with tears while some runs down his neck.

“Mr. Stilinski, we're playing by my rules. This is my game, and you know how my games end.” Stiles knows too. It ends with a knife slitting his throat.

His dad casts one glance at him, and Stiles doesn't feel like having his throat cut out, so he nods at his dad to do so. His dad casts him one more glance that's filled with determination before he's lead out of the room.

Once he's alone, Stiles glances down at his wrists. The ropes are too tight to try and get off, and even if his legs were untied, his right one would be useless. Luckily there's no more blood than it'd be if he'd donated a bag, so he thinks he can manage a little longer, but the fact that he hadn't eaten since lunch at school doesn't help.

 

When the man finally walks back in the room, Stiles sits up straight again. He'd been informed of a few “rules” when he'd woken up tied down.

 

_“First rule: Don't struggle; it'll only make you bleed out faster, and I want this to drag out as long as possible. Second rule: When your daddy gets home, you won't make a sound. It's my job to greet him as a proper host should. Third rule: You're a good boy, my good boy, and when you're my good boy, you sit up straight and don't speak. Last rule: You are my toy, and you do what I say.”_

 

Williams looks bored, if anything. He sets the gun down and picks up the knife, then moves toward him.

“You know, I've never really had much free time like this with any of my toys, but then again I usually have to leave them in public places. Look at us, though, my dear Stiles! We're in your home with more than enough time.” He rests the knife on his shoulder and wipes away the blood. “You know, it took myself some convincing to actually go after you. Your initials appeal to me, but only by that of your nickname. Your hair is brown, and your eyes look to be it, but,” he comes around the side of him, forcing Stiles to turn his head in his direction, “they're really a dark hazel. If you get the right lighting, though, they're bright. Then there's your skin, white, but not my preferred tone, and covered in freckles and moles, the perfect imperfection.” His face shoots forward into the crook of Stiles' neck. Stiles tries to pull away, but Williams' hand grabs onto the tie, pulling it toward him.

“I saw all of those cute little moles while I undressed and dressed you. Your body was so pliant in my hands. I could have done anything and you wouldn't know because you were unconscious and at my mercy.

“I have to be honest, my dear. You deserve to know everything. I took some pictures.” His hand comes up to trail lingering touches across Stiles' bloody face. “I touched your beautiful face here.” Stiles trembles and tears start forming again. Williams' hand lingers down to his chest and lays his palm flat, just above his right nipple. “Here,” he whispers. “And here,” his hand lowers and presses against his groin and Stiles shouts around the gag. Stiles can't tell if it's poor choice or not because Williams pulls away quick, but his face is angry.

“You know the rules Stiles. Don't do that again.”

Then the fax machine beeps.

 

-

 

“BASTARD!” Williams' shouts. He runs out of the room to grab the Sheriff and hauls him back in front of Stiles. His arms are restrained behind his back and there's remnants of rope hanging from his ankle.

“Explain this!” He holds the fax up to Stilinski.

“'You have 60 seconds to leave the premises,'” he reads out. “You heard the call. I didn't say anything. I didn't type any secret messages either. Check the outbox.” Williams's doesn't check it, but he does chuck it across the room, letting it shatter against the wall.

Everything happens fast then. The front door gets kicked in and Williams screams in outrage. He aims the gun at Stiles and pulls the trigger and the same time that Stilinski rams into him. Stiles hears the bullet whiz by his head and a small clatter on the ground away from the two men.

Williams recovers fast though, and he gets up and runs out the back door, only to be body slammed back and down to the floor, and finally, Stiles relaxes.

 

-

 

Getting untied and moved outside is blur for Stiles. A strong paramedic helps get him onto the gurney and puts a temporary wrap on his wrists. There's shouts and he can hear his dad. Among the words, he can hear, “...nearing three pints,” and Stiles could have sworn it was less blood than that.

In the ambulance, the tie gets removed and the shirt is cut off. A blanket is placed over him with his arms on top, and that's when he loses consciousness.

 

-

 

He wakes up once and he doesn't feel half as terrible as he thought he might, but it's still not a pleasant feeling. His dad is in the seat next to him, head rested on the bed, and his hand is gripped firmly in his, even in his sleep.

 

Later when they're both awake, Stiles talks to Detective Lawrence, who takes his statement and talks to him about what's going to happen now. Because Stiles is eighteen, he's no longer a minor, so keeping his name out of news reports is tricky, but they're doing the best they can.

Jamie visits with Scott and Lydia. Stiles doesn't feel up for talking much, but he tells them the basics. His injuries are minor, despite the blood loss. He has a concussion, a broken leg, his forearms are wrapped around the cuts, and his ankles and wrists have a similar dressing for rope burns. The gag left small irritated marks at the corners of his mouth, but no one talks about that. The only person who ever gets the full story of the events and what Williams actually said to him is Lawrence. His dad asks him about it once, but he doesn't ask again.

 

When his dad is told about the photos retrieved off of Williams' phone, his face goes red with anger, dying to scream at someone. He holds it down and hugs Stiles fiercely, and he lets his son cry into his shoulder. That's when Stiles finally tells him what happened. How he'd come home a little late, but happy and looking forward to making dinner. He'd been in the middle of it when he'd shown up at the door. Williams had rung the doorbell and was casually holding a hanger with a white dress shirt and tie in one hand and in the other a suitcase. His eyes had just drifted to the truck with a school desk chair in the back when a needle was stabbed into his neck. He tried to shout, but he'd been kicked in the leg, sending him backward and to the ground. When he'd tried to crawl away, his leg had been stomped on with full force.

When Stiles had awoken, he'd already been tied to the desk. The ball gag hadn't been in his mouth yet, but Williams had pinched his nose until he was forced to open his mouth. His head had been slammed into the desk to buckle the thing, and then he'd cut open his wrists, and they'd sat in silence waiting for the sheriff.

It takes more time to tell his dad about how he'd touched him, and it makes him uncomfortable sharing these things. When he's done talking, though, Sheriff swears on his life that no one will ever touch him like that again. Stiles wants to believe him. They sign him up for therapy.

 

-

 

Going back to school is awkward. It's a couple days after, but reporters are desperate for the story because an official statement hadn't been released yet, but everyone knows that he and his dad were involved. Some stories are spreading that he'd apparently been the one to take down the killer, which makes him feel weak for being the victim. Some reporters are asking questions about rape, which didn't happen but make him uneasy nonetheless. The sheriff had dropped him off at the sidewalk outside the parking lot, but they'd come in and swarmed right after. Being on crutches didn't help him get past them, but at one point, football players had come and just picked Stiles up and carried him inside the school, where the reporters weren't allowed. Stiles had actually laughed and thanked them. Scott had met up with him then, and offered to carry his books throughout the day. A few classmates signed his cast, and after school when the reporters came back, he stopped for questions.

“How would you describe Williams?” one asks.

“He likes alliteration,” he deadpans back, then starts moving again. Jamie and Lydia come up and flank him then, both purposely tripping one or two reporters. Lydia drives them both to her house after, where they'll all hang out until Stiles dad gets off work. Stiles wouldn't admit to it, but he cant fathom the idea of being home alone right now. They do some homework, helping Stiles catch up on it, and then they watch movies.

For about a week, the two girls are the only one treating him like he's the same guy. Everyone else sees a victim. He even gets a little hate for being an attention whore and _really?_ People actually think he's enjoying being known as a serial killer's latest victim, being the boy who lived? Stiles isn't enjoying _any_ of it.

 

 

It's officially two weeks after the incident when he's walking through the halls, just trying to get to class like everyone else, when his crutches are knocked out from under him, and a hand wraps around his mouth as he's pushed into a lock. Panic seizes him and someone shouts at the asshole.

“Look at him!” the guy shouts as he lets go of Stiles, letting him fall to the ground in a panic attack. “He does it for attention. You can't keep playing victim Stilinski.” Because there are people that cruel in the world. Scott shows up one second later with a fist in the guy's face.

Stiles goes skips the rest of the day with Scott, Lydia, and Jamie, and he skips school the next day. He shows up the day after that, and when he enters the lunch room, a lot of people are staring. There are people who ignore him again, but that's what he doesn't mind. They're not being dicks, they just don't know Stiles enough to care or aren't gossip-fueled enough to keep up with the happenings of school life.

Anthony is staring at him, though. The kid has serious issues or something. He has to, otherwise Stiles doesn't know why he would have tormented him the other day the way he had.

Stiles walks with his crutches straight up to him and tosses papers next to his lunch.

“What the hell is this?”

“That's my physical assessment from two weeks ago. Under that are the papers and dates of my past and future therapy appointments.” Kids are staring now, and out of the corner of his eye, Stiles see Scott inching forward.

“See, you want sympathy. You're playing victim-”

“I'm not playing victim you asshat!” People start whispering. “I _am_ the victim. This isn't a lousy role I'm playing for attention! This is real! And it could have been anyone else, but it wasn't because my dad is the sheriff and he _used_ me to get to him! This is proof of the lasting damage this bastard has on me; I'm not making this shit up.”  
“A lousy sheriff we have if even he couldn't take him down!”

“Lousy sheriff? That man served two tours in war for this country and let's see oh wait, he couldn't do _shit_ because that fucking killer threatened to kill me if he even fucking took one step in the wrong direction.” There's gasps around the cafeteria. “This killer put my life on the line like it was a fucking game, and it really was to him.

“My question now is how would you feel if it had been you Tony? You fit his _fucking type_ more than I do!” Stiles shouts, making him go pale. “ _Anthony Abrams,_ ” he says harshly, “with white skin, brown eyes, and brown hair.” Tony is silent.

“Would you treat a girl like this? Harass her in the halls? I'm not looking for sympathy or pity, I just want my boundaries respected. Touch me again and I'll tell my dad what you did, and friendly reminder, my dad is a sheriff who can put your legal ass in jail.”

 

Surprisingly enough, after that incident, people stop crowding Stiles. They stop staring and stop talking, too. Rather than cause gossip, it seems to set everything back into it's original motion at school.

Stiles knows he was a victim, but he doesn't feel like one so much anymore.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If there are any tags you feel should be added, please let me know, and I'll be happy to get feedback!  
> Reach me on tumblr! - sarcasticstilesstilinski.tumblr.com


End file.
